


Neither Flotsam Nor Jetsam

by voleuse



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-26
Updated: 2004-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-05 06:44:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four women whose stories weren't told.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neither Flotsam Nor Jetsam

**Author's Note:**

> Set faintly before the first movie.

_i. Giselle_

Jack murmurs in her ear as she arches her back, whispering her name as he cradles her breasts in his hands, enters her from behind. Giselle likes the feeling of the rings on his hands, the constant cool of the metal a relief against her heated skin.

"Am I the only one, Jack?" she asks, because that's what she's supposed to ask, that's what they always expect her to ask. She rocks back against him, and he slides one of his hands down to her hips. "Do you do this with anyone else?"

He grunts as he thrusts into her, and he laughs. It's a low, rich sound that sends shivers across her shoulders, down her spine, to the place where they're joined. "Of course," he mutters, his fingers wandering, stroking. "The sweetest strumpet in Tortuga."

"That's not answering my question," she retorts, breathless. "Do you see anyone else in Tortuga?"

"I don't see anyone at all," he rumbles against the nape of her neck. "Just you."

She thinks she should quibble with that answer, too, but then his hands flutter in exactly the right way, pushing her to the edge and over it, in a way that only Jack has ever managed.

When they're done, there's a clink of coin against coin, and she shifts into another frame of mind for a minute, comparing wages to rent owed, and finds herself with money to spare. He grins down at her, and she beams up at him, almost completely sincere. Jack is her best and favorite customer, and her jealousy is only half artifice.

He bends and kisses her a final time. "Sweet Giselle," he says, in a way that she would laugh at, from any other. Then he's gone.

She stretches, once, twice, and then blinks, remembering the last few moments of their coupling. Remembering, specifically, the name he had whispered before going over the brink.

_Pearl_.

_ii. Anamaria_

She's halfway finished with mending the sails when Jack appears on the bow of her sloop. The sun is behind his shoulder, and he has his hands on his hips, the perfect illustration to the stories people tell about him over a round of ale. The infamous Captain Jack Sparrow, noble pirate and all-around scallywag.

She found it seductive once, but only once. Now, she finds it wearying, and she doesn't bother to greet him as he hops down and swaggers towards her.

"Anamaria."

She doesn't look up from the canvas in her lap, torn from the last hurricane that passed the island, not touching it, but sending winds strong enough to tear weakened cloth and send the sloop careening over the shoals. She makes a mental note to check the hull before she bothers to acknowledge Jack with a squint and a curt nod.

"Anamaria, I have a favor to ask of you." He dances around her, bending so that his mouth barely grazes her ear. "A small one."

She shrugs violently enough to make him lurch back, and she ducks her head to hide her smirk. "Don't ask me for any favors, Sparrow." She points her bone needle at him. "I always regret it."

Jack paces the sloop, stem to stern, hand on his chin as if he was formulating a plan.

"And don't think I'll let you lay a hand on this boat, either."

Jack spins, a wounded look on his face. "The thought never occurred to me!" He bows. "I see you're busy. Perhaps I'll visit another time."

"Don't bother!" she shouts as he swings off the boat and walks away, but he only acknowledges her with a wave of his hand.

_iii. Scarlett_

Scarlett's just served a last round of drinks when Jack enters the tavern. She feels dusty from the air, and her hands are sticky with ale and rum. She hasn't eaten since noon, and she's feeling a little light-headed, but when Jack calls her name, she brightens and yells that she's leaving.

She met Jack a few months ago, after hearing stories about him for years. He had caught her arm when she had slammed a tankard in front of him, tired of being grabbed by drunken sailors and lecherous pirates.

"What's your name, girl?" he had asked, and his brusque tone had been softened by his smile.

She had blurted it out and he, his fingers gently stroking her elbow, had introduced himself in turn. He had been sitting alone at the time, and he didn't so much as leer at her.

After a few rounds, she had asked him up to her room, and the rest was history.

Scarlett isn't a whore, not like some of the other wenches in the tavern, and she was gratified when he didn't treat her like one.

Tonight, he sweeps her into his arms, sways a little more drunkenly than usual, and leads her to his room upstairs. They fuck on a narrow pallet, and Jack murmurs of freedom and victory, and a million things that she doesn't pay attention to, not really.

In the morning, she wakes alone, and twice over the coin needed to pay for his room, and Scarlett realizes, like a stone in her belly, what the extra must be covering.

_iv. Estrella_

Will Turner is a right fool, Estrella thinks, though she only nods at him when he bids her greeting. He's exiting by the servants' door, despite Miss Swann's (and the governor's) repeated assurances that he is a welcome guest in their home. Governor Swann practically raised the boy, after all, taking such interest in Will's welfare and education.

"Good day, Mr. Turner," she calls out as he walks away, and she wonders whether he dared to say anything to Miss Swann at all.

It's a shame, she thinks, that he's only a blacksmith's apprentice. He's a real gentleman, despite his mysterious origin, fished out of the sea like a squid, or so she's told.

And just as Turner disappears through the back door, Miss Swann appears at the top of the stairs, waving Estrella up.

Estrella smiles to herself, calls that she'll be up in a minute, and stops by the kitchen to pick up a tray of biscuits and tea before maneuvering up the back staircase. She enters Miss Swann's parlor with a curtsy, sets the tray on a table, and shakes her head when she gestures her to sit down, as she always does.

She knows why Miss Swann summoned her, but she patiently waits while she breaks one biscuit into crumbs, then eats a second one while chattering about the latest ships to arrive in the port.

It's while biting into the third biscuit that Estrella recognizes the look on Miss Swann's face, and she resolves not to smile when she finally, casually asks her the question.

"What business did Mr. Turner have with us this afternoon?"

She relates the news efficiently--a commission for a new sword--and it's only when Miss Swann pouts that she relents, describes what he wore, what she overheard, and when he might return again.

When she's done, there's only one biscuit left on the tray, and Miss Swann waves it away with a wink. Estrella curtsies again, then takes the tray, stepping carefully down the staircase.

Before she emerges into the hallway, she pauses, balances the tray in one hand, and picks up the last biscuit. She pops it into her mouth, chews thoughtfully, and hastily wipes crumbs from the corner of her mouth.

It is a shame, she thinks, that he's only a blacksmith's apprentice, because he's the only one who makes Miss Swann smile that way.


End file.
